


Ballroom

by theartfulroger



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King
Genre: ...sort of, Dancing, M/M, Waltzing, With a dash of sadness as we all know Roland Deschain's life is hell :), Youth shenanigans and the like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theartfulroger/pseuds/theartfulroger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gunslinging and dance require the same finesse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballroom

Roland was still small enough that his head could fit between the pieces of wood on the railing above the ballroom. Cuthbert had grown a little, and for him it didn't work quite so well. It looked as though his dark hair was being squished against his cheeks. 

"Doesn't it look funny, Ro?" Cuthbert was staring down at the party, looking mesmerized.

"Does what look funny?"

"The gunslingers. Dancing. Isn't it funny?"

"I suppose." Roland scanned the group of people for anyone he knew. His mother and father didn't usually come to these things. Alain had disappeared somewhere with a hoard of food most likely snatched from the tables of the gunslinger ball. No Cort, either. "Gunslinging and dance require the same finesse, though."

"Must be why I cannot dance, then," Cuthbert said, and laughed. 

"Do not doubt yourself so," Roland said, his voice sounding lulled as his eyes became glued to the twirling figures below. It was nothing like balls in the old stories, here the floors were planks of wood and the men were dressed in their gunslinging clothes. But instead of holding their guns, they held their ladies' waists with the same gentleness they pulled the trigger with. "Look at them, Bert."

"Want to try it?" Roland turned. Cuthbert had _that look_ on his face. The wild grin that Cort had so many times threaten to slap off of him until said face was blood read. "The dancing. It sure isn't fair that only the older ones get to do all the dancing." 

"We are not---"

"Oh, come, Roland. You yourself said gunslinging and dancing require the same finesse." Cuthbert was standing now. He was so tall, so much taller than his years would have betrayed. Roland found himself thinking that he was beautiful, more beautiful than Arthur Eld himself could have been. Roland rose and Cuthbert placed tentative hands on his waist, shooting a glance at the ball below.

"They count," Roland said. "I've seen them do it. When they dance, they count 1-2-3 to keep pace if they are beginners at the practice."

"Then we'll try that," Cuthbert said. "Will you lead or shall I?"

"Whatever pleases you."

"I suppose I will lead then, if you intend to be so passive about it." Cuthbert then threw Roland into an odd, jerking circle of a waltz. Roland murmured a 1-2-3-1-2-3-1-2-3 but soon found that Cuthbert was moving faster than he was counting.

"Slow down, 'Bert." He practically whispered the sentence into Cuthbert's ear. "Listen to my counting. Keep pace." Cuthbert obliged with a grin, but his steps were still jerking and too quick. Soon Roland abandoned the counting, for their feet were just moving without either needing to think about it. 

The soft, ombré light of the makeshift ballroom combined with the music and tapping of feet from below them seemed to blur into a haziness that Roland could only describe as comfortable. His hand rested on Cuthbert's shoulder as though it had been glued there, and Cuthbert dipped him down and twirled him and there was nothing in the world but him and Cuthbert.

A rooster crows somewhere. A steady ache throbs in Roland's back against the flimsy, thin mattress and the creaking bedframe. Dreams can feel so much like reality, Roland thinks, and pulls himself up.


End file.
